


(Leave Me) Breathless

by countmeaway



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Docking, Foreskin Play, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countmeaway/pseuds/countmeaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Roman’s all strong muscle, long limbs, smooth, tan skin, and Dean loves every inch of him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Leave Me) Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words written here. Title taken from Breathless by The Corrs.

There are so many things Dean loves about Roman. He really tries not to dwell on them, afraid that if he does it’ll all be ripped away from him like every other good thing he’s ever allowed himself to have.

There’s always that little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he doesn’t deserve good things, and Roman’s the epitome of good. He has a heart of gold, always tries to see the good in everyone, caring and loyal and trusting even if it means he gets hurt in the end.

It’s nothing that Dean feels he deserves. Why should he deserve someone as good and amazing as Roman? He knows he’s a fuck up, has the shitty, shady past to prove it, trusts almost no one and refuses to let people in out of the fear they’ll leave and fuck him over.

It’s not a far-fetched line of thinking; Seth’s betrayal really cemented it for him. But for some reason, Roman was able to slip through all the walls he built up, was able to worm his way into Dean’s heart and mind and soul, and he’s forever fucking grateful for it, cherishes it more than he’ll ever be able to put into words.

He loves Roman, even if he can’t say it as often as he wishes he could, and he knows Roman loves him, too. He says it with words, with touches, with the softest, fondest looks that make Dean feel wholly undeserving, but thankful nonetheless.

Thankful that he gets to have Roman like this, in his heart, in his life, in his bed, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky. It never fails to make his breath catch in his throat, his heart beat rapid fire in his chest.

Roman’s all strong muscle, long limbs, smooth, tan skin, and Dean loves every inch of him. He loves the shape of Roman’s mouth, the softness of his lips contrasted by the coarse hair on his chin, the prickle of stubble along the strong curve of his jaw. He loves Roman’s neck, how sensitive his skin is there, the way it feels against his lips when Roman moans, sending little jolts of vibrations tickling through his mouth.

He loves the shape and size of Roman’s shoulders, broad and thick and solid, leading to strong biceps that Dean loves to sink his teeth into when they don’t have to worry about bruises and bite marks, the strength in his forearms that rest against Dean’s stomach when they’re curled up together in bed, the outside world the farthest thing from their minds.

Roman’s hands are a thing of beauty, and Dean is never quiet about how much he loves them. He loves the size of them, the feel of them, worn rough with calluses that send little sparks of pleasure through Dean’s body whenever they’re on him. Then there’s Roman’s fingers, thicker and longer than Dean’s own, and he loves them, loves running his tongue over the pads of them, loves the way Roman uses them to tease him, slick with spit or lube, rubbing along the cleft of his ass or the sensitive skin behind his balls, skipping over the tight clench of Dean’s asshole til he’s begging and pleading for it.

Dean loves Roman’s chest, the way he can hear the steady beat of Roman’s heart when he rests his head there, loves the way his stomach isn’t packed solid with muscle, still has a slight give to it, loves to trace the line of Roman’s hips with his fingers and tongue, that v shape leading to Roman’s groin, the crease of his thighs, those thighs, so thick and powerful. Dean loves putting his mouth there, too, loves sucking and licking and biting, leaves bruises whenever he can because it’s always covered, loves knowing Roman’s carrying his mark wherever he goes.

Roman’s back is a thing of beauty. Inches and inches of smooth, tan skin, dips and curves that highlight muscle and bone, the small of his back that sends shivers up and down Roman’s spine whenever Dean pays the slightest attention there, leading down to the swell of Roman’s ass. God, Roman’s ass. Firm and thick and fucking perfect, the tightest ass Dean has ever had the pleasure of fucking into, the only one he wants to fuck into for the rest of ever.

The thing Dean loves most about Roman’s body, aside from his hair, long and dark and always there to wrap his hand in, and his eyes, grey and piercing, is his cock. Dean has never really cared about the way penises look, never really saw one and thought _pretty_ or _perfect_ or _gorgeous_ , only ever thought of them in terms of pleasing and being pleased.

Until Roman.

Roman pretty much changed the way he thinks and feels about a lot of things, if he’s being honest.

But Roman’s cock is a thing of beauty, and Dean has no shame in admitting that. It’s thick, stretches him in the best of ways, and the length of it fills him so completely, hits all the spots that set Dean’s nerves ablaze. What he loves the most about it is the fact that Roman is uncut.

He loves the way it feels when he’s stroking Roman’s cock, the way the skin slides up and over the tip, the way it slides back and reveals the glistening head, spreading the blurt of precome down the rest of his shaft.

Dean was a little intimidated the first time he gave Roman head, wasn’t quite sure how to handle a cock with foreskin, but Roman was encouraging, talked Dean through it until Dean felt confident in his skills, curling the tip of his tongue under the skin and licking, stroking up to gather it all over the tip, sucking at it until Roman was gripping his hair tight, so deliciously painful.

He loves having Roman’s cock in his mouth now, loves the weight and feel of it on his tongue, the way it stretches his lips wide, leaves his throat sore and abused when Roman fucks into it, loves the way Roman calls him _cock hungry little slut_ , voice fond and loving, thick with arousal.

Dean is so fucking glad they have the day off, has been looking forward to it for the last few days. They’ve been so busy working and working out and traveling that it’s left little time for them to be intimate, barely having the energy to drag themselves into a shower before collapsing into bed, and Dean is pretty sure he’s about to break something with how badly he needs to feel Roman against him.

It’s still early morning, earlier than Dean is used to being awake, but he’s rested enough, and truthfully, he has no plans of getting out of bed today, or letting Roman out of bed, either.

That plan is quickly thwarted by the incessant pressure in his bladder, and the gross taste of sleep in his mouth. He quietly drags himself to the bathroom to take care of business, feeling a little more awake when he tiptoes back into bed

Roman’s still asleep, thin sheet draped low on his hips, one arm resting over his stomach, the other curled over the empty space where Dean was. He quietly slips back into that space, holding his breath until he’s sure Roman’s still peacefully asleep.

Dean takes a moment to admire Roman’s body for what feels like the millionth time, but it’s a sight he’ll never get over. Roman’s fucking gorgeous when he’s awake, but asleep, he’s something else. His hair is fanned out against his pillow, pulled loose from the ponytail he always ties it in before sleep. His eyelashes are thick and long, resting atop the curves of his cheeks, and his lips are lifted in the faintest of smiles. His skin is soft and sleep warm, and there will never be a day where Dean won’t love this man with every fiber of his being.

Dean keeps his touches soft and light, tracing nonsensical patterns with the tips of his fingers over the planes of Roman’s chest, down the center of his stomach to the edge of the sheet, back up to his neck.

Roman twitches minutely, but he doesn’t rouse. Dean laughs softly. Roman can sleep through almost anything.

Dean moves quickly, tosses one leg over Roman and straddles his hips, resting his ass against the soft swell of Roman’s cock. He rocks back and forth, eyes locked on Roman’s face, watching for the smallest sign that Roman’s finally waking up.

Much to Dean’s disappointment, Roman stays fast asleep.

He sighs, biting at his bottom lip, before realizing he’s got inches and inches of smooth skin laid out beneath him that he could be using his mouth on. He scoots back a little further until his ass is resting on Roman’s strong thighs, and leans in, tracing the line of Roman’s collarbone with lips and tongue, nipping when he gets to the curve of his shoulder.

Roman stirs slightly, smacking his lips softly before he stills, breath evening out.

Dean trails his lips back down, soft kisses and bites over the muscles of Roman’s chest, leading to a soft nipple. He licks over it with a broad swipe of his tongue, swirls over and around it until it pebbles, then tugs it between his teeth with the right amount of pressure that would have Roman arching his back and cursing.

As it is, he only gets a hand on the back of his head, sifting through the unruly mess of curls. He’ll take it, if it means Roman’s finally waking up.

He unlatches his teeth, only to fasten his lips there, sucking while he flicks his tongue over it.

”Fuck, Dean,” Roman says, voice rough with sleep, sending little frissons of pleasure down Dean’s spine.

”Morning, Ro,” Dean replies, offering up a mischievous smile. He sends Roman a quick wink, leaning back down to lavish the other nipple with the same attention.

Roman moans, long and low, shivering beneath Dean. “C’mere,” he says, hands gripping Dean’s arms and hauling him up.

Fuck but Dean loves his strength.

Roman lets him go, curves one hand around Dean’s jaw and the other around the back of Dean’s head, pulling him in until their lips are pressed together. Dean wastes no time licking into the heat of Roman’s mouth, ignoring the stale taste of sleep in favor of the feel of Roman’s tongue sliding along his, the feel of their lips moving together, getting lost in the feel of kissing Roman like they’re both starved for it, like all they have is here and now, just this moment to last all of eternity.

He’s lightheaded with it, lungs burning for air, and he groans in disappointment when they separate.

Roman keeps him where he’s at, moves his lips along the line of Dean’s jaw, down the column of his neck, using every trick he knows to turn Dean into a moaning, writhing mess in Roman’s lap. “Love you like this,” he says softly, voice whisper quiet, a confession breathed into Dean’s skin.

Dean chases Roman’s lips, kisses him harder, pours every ounce of himself into it, everything he feels and everything he wants and needs. He doesn’t want to leave Roman’s lips, but there’s so much of Roman’s skin he’s yet to touch, and he wants to touch it all, has gone far too long without.

He pulls back with a final peck to Roman’s lips, sitting up and taking one of Roman’s hands in his. He brings it up to his lips, kisses the tip of each finger before flicking his tongue out against the pad of his thumb, drawing it into his mouth and sucking softly.

Roman curses under his breath, and Dean can’t help but chuckle when he pulls away.

”You good?” Dean asks, punctuating the question with a soft kiss to Roman’s palm.

Roman nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yeah, don’t stop.”

Dean has no intentions of stopping. He lets Roman’s hand fall to the side, picks up the other hand and repeats his previous movements: a kiss to the tip of each finger, a teasing swipe of his tongue over the thumb, sucking it into his mouth briefly before letting it slip free.

Roman continues his moaning and cursing, and Dean smirks. He loves Roman like this, soft and sleep warm, nothing but arousal clouding his mind.

Dean scoots further down Roman’s body, leaves kisses down Roman’s stomach until he gets to the edge of the sheet, barely covering the swell of Roman’s cock. Dean pushes it down all the way, feels his mouth water at the sight of Roman’s cock, already hard for him.

As badly as Dean wants to put his mouth on it, he bypasses it for the moment, enjoying the continuous curses falling from Roman’s mouth when he realizes he’s not getting Dean’s mouth just yet.

Dean focuses his attention on Roman’s thighs, sinks his teeth into the well-muscled flesh, soothing it with his tongue when Roman hisses out a breath. He does the same to the other side, sucking a dark bruise into the skin right beside the imprint of his teeth.

”Dean, please,” Roman says. His voice is already wrecked, so deep and low and breathy, and Dean basks in it, loving the way Roman’s voice feels like little kisses being dropped all over his skin.

”Please what?” Dean asks, and he’s surprised to hear his voice sounds as wrecked as Roman’s does.

”Fucker,” Roman says, all fond and loving. “You know what I want.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Sometimes Dean really enjoys being a little shit.

”Fucking suck me, Dean,” Roman grits out, and that’s what Dean was waiting for. He loves pushing Roman like this, enjoys the moments where Roman loses his patience with Dean’s teasing and flat out tells him what he wants.

As much as he hates any kind of authority, he fucking loves it when Roman bosses him around.

”Damn, Ro, ain’t gotta yell,” Dean says, fighting back a smile at the look Roman gives him.

Dean wraps his hand around the base of Roman’s cock, gives it a few strokes that are too loose and too slow, stilling the roll of Roman’s hips with his other hand. “Be good and maybe I’ll let you fuck my mouth,” he says, quick as lightning, and whatever Roman’s response was going to be gets lost in a choked moan, Dean’s lips sealed tight around his dick.

Roman’s hands tangle in his hair and it spurs Dean on, makes him suck a little harder, take Roman in a little deeper each time his mouth sinks back down. Roman’s hips keep shifting restlessly, and Dean knows just how much Roman is restraining himself from just fucking up into his mouth.

He pulls back and kisses the tip, swirls his tongue over and around the crown, stroking up and down the shaft with a loose fist.

Roman’s cursing, moaning, gripping Dean’s hair a little tighter, and Dean fucking loves it. He tightens his fist around Roman’s cock, draws the foreskin over the head, his own cock twitching at the sight.

Dean looks up at Roman through the veil of his eyelashes, watching his reaction as he teases the skin with the tip of his tongue. Roman’s free hand is clenched tight in the sheets beneath him, head tossed back against the pillow, showing off the long line of his neck, and if Dean’s mouth wasn’t already occupied, he’d be licking and sucking and marking that skin.

Dean wraps his lips around the entire head, sucking while his tongue curls under the foreskin, relishing in the way Roman keeps repeating his name, a curse, a prayer, a litany of _Dean, Dean, Dean_ falling from his lips.

A soft, wet sound and Roman’s cock is falling from his lips, curving up toward his belly. Dean wets his lips, traces the thick vein on the underside up to the tip, sloppy, wet kisses back down to his balls. He sucks them into his mouth, slick and shiny with saliva when he releases them.

Dean keeps stroking Roman’s cock, watching the foreskin kiss the head before it slides back down, over and over, fascinated with the sight like he always is.

”Hey, can I - ” Dean pauses, loosens his grip on Roman’s dick, looking up at Roman’s face. “Can we try something?”

Roman’s eyes are heavy lidded when he looks at Dean, but he nods, says, “Yeah,” and the implicit trust he has in Dean will never not make Dean feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Dean releases his grip on Roman, sits up and tries to think through how he wants to do this. It’s not something he’s ever tried before, never had a chance to since Roman’s the first guy he’s been with who’s uncut, and has only ever seen it in some terribly shot homemade pornos.

(That didn’t stop him from watching them repeatedly, however, wondering what it would feel like, stroking his cock and imagining it, coming hard at the thought of it.)

”Can you sit up?” Dean asks, walking on his knees to his side of the bed, piling his pillows behind Roman so he can lean back against them.

”What are you doing?” Roman asks, and for the first time in awhile, Dean actually feels nervous here in bed with him, unsure of what he’s doing or if Roman will even like it.

Dean shrugs, unable to meet Roman’s eyes, hating himself for feeling like this. Roman is the only one who has this kind of power over him, and he hate it and loves it in turns.

”Hey, c’mon,” Roman says, loosely gripping Dean’s chin and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Anything you want, Dean, you know I trust you.”

Dean nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “Just wanna try something I saw once, but we don’t have to, it’s stupid.”

God, he fucking hates this, hates that he’s let Roman in so deep, allowed Roman to worm his way in and make Dean feel anything but sure and confident and cocky. Dean had made it his whole fucking life alone, built himself up until he believed he needed no one, could take on everything the world had to throw at him on his own, and then Roman came along.

He loves Roman with every fiber of his being, every beat of his heart, every breath in his lungs, more than he ever thought he could love someone, too fucking broken to even entertain the thought of someone ever wanting him for something more than a night of pleasure, a night of pain, but sometimes it’s just--it’s more than he knows what to do with, and it terrifies him and thrills him in equal measures.

”Babe, c’mon,” Roman says, drawing Dean into a kiss. Dean lets Roman manhandle him into his lap, lets Roman’s lips and teeth and tongue chase away his anxiety and doubts, arousal swimming through his veins, hot and heavy low in his belly.

Dean nods again, settles himself between Roman’s legs, his own splayed out around Roman’s hips. He grips his cock with one hand, Roman’s in the other, stroking them both in an off, jerky rhythm. His eyes are transfixed on their cocks, so it startles him a little when Roman’s head rests against his own, watching Dean’s movements.

Dean moves in a little closer, breathing rough and ragged into the space between them, already feeling like he could come any second just by picturing in his head how this is going to look and feel like.

Dean licks his lips, feels a drop of sweat slide down his back, suddenly aware of every sound, every movement, every touch. He stops stroking his own cock for a moment, touches the tip of it right against Roman’s, cursing and shaking at the feel of the sticky wet precome that blurts out of Roman’s cock right onto his.

Roman’s hand is resting high on Dean’s thigh, rubbing circles against the sensitive skin there, but as much as Dean loves the feel of Roman’s hand there, teasing, he reaches for it, wraps Roman’s fingers around his cock and says, “Just, like that okay? Don’t, just, not yet.”

”Uh huh.” Roman’s already so far lost in his arousal, the way he always gets when he lets Dean take control, reduced to simple sounds, grunts, moans, and it always, without fail, makes Dean’s cock throb and twitch, Roman, beautiful, perfect, amazing Roman, lust drunk on Dean and everything he’s giving.

Dean strokes Roman’s cock, slow, tight strokes that drag the foreskin up to kiss the head of Dean’s dick, and Dean can’t help the _holy shit_ that slips out.

When Dean looks up, Roman’s eyes are locked on his, heavy lidded, swimming with arousal, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

”Watch, Ro,” Dean says, panting. “C’mon, look.”

Dean watches Roman’s eyes slowly slide down to their cocks, and where Dean felt nervous, anxious, wrong in his skin only minutes ago, he now feels bold, brave, like he’s on top of the fucking world here with Roman, like nothing and no one can touch them.

He strokes Roman’s cock again, drawing the foreskin up further this time, sucking in a huge, shuddery breath when the slightest bit stretches over his cockhead. 

“Oh, fuck, jesus, Ro,” Dean curses, trying to push down the immediate urge to come.

Roman’s breathing is rough, ragged, unsteady, and Dean can’t decide which he wants to do more: watch the sight of Roman’s foreskin slowly sliding over his cockhead, or the look on Roman’s face, the flush of his cheeks, the way his tongue keeps darting out to wet his lips.

”Don’t stop,” Roman says, drags the tips of his fingers along the length of Dean’s dick, up to the tip to trace the crown, back down to the base to hold him steady.

Dean couldn’t stop if you paid him to. Each stroke of his fist around Roman’s cock draws his foreskin up further around the head of Dean’s cock, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s tight and so fucking hot, slippery wet with Roman’s precome, and Dean can’t stop the punched out moans leaving his mouth.

It’s so much better than he imagined, Roman’s cock wet and hot against his, jerking and throbbing in his hold, and he wants to come so fucking badly, can taste it already, slowly slithering up his spine, pulling his balls up tight, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

Roman doesn’t seem to be faring much better, biting his bottom lip almost painfully, skin white around the clench of his teeth, and Dean wants to hear him, needs to hear him, needs to know he’s not alone in this otherworldly pleasure he’s feeling.

”Feel good, Ro?” he asks, panting, gritting his teeth through the shockwaves of pleasure rippling through his body. His cockhead is fully sheathed by Roman’s foreskin, tucked snug against Roman’s, and he can’t stop his fingers from tracing over the line of his crown through the skin.

Roman moans, a deep, guttural sound that Dean feels in his bones. His hand starts to move on Dean’s cock, stroking in earnest now, and it’s like all the words he’s been holding in fall out in a rush. “Feels so fucking good, Dean, fuck, looks so hot, goddamn, babe. You fucking love this, don’t you? Fucking my cock like that? Yeah, fuck.”

Roman’s words are like liquid fire floating through Dean’s veins, and he’s so fucking lost in the feel of Roman’s hips shifting, pushing their cocks together in the tight confines of his foreskin he doesn’t realize he’s coming until he’s doubled over, forehead resting against Roman’s shoulder, hot, wet slick spilling over his cock and his entire body trembling, Roman’s name and a litany of praise falling from his lips.

Dean’s barely with it when Roman grips his hips, flipping them over so Roman’s settled over him, Dean flat on his back, staring up at the heated look in Roman’s eyes.

”C’mon, Ro,” Dean says, breathless, scraping his nails up and down Roman’s back.

Roman’s breath hitches, then he’s kissing Dean, deep, hungry kisses that feel like he’s sucking Dean’s soul from his body, their lips and tongues sliding together messily, no finesse to it at all.

Dean digs his hands into the meat of Roman’s ass, urges him to move, quick, jerky rolls of his hips against Dean’s, and Dean knows Roman’s so fucking close from the way his body is slowly tightening up, every muscle suddenly freezing an instant before it all goes lax, orgasm shooting through him.

Dean pulls away from Roman’s lips, looking up at his face in amazement. “Yeah, that’s it, Ro,” he says, voice deep and low and encouraging, “come for me.”

Roman grunts and gasps through it, spilling wet over Dean’s stomach, and he stays there hovered over Dean for a moment longer before he flops onto his back next to him, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as Dean’s own.

Dean draws his fingers through the mess on his stomach, making a face once it starts to cool. He looks over at Roman, and Roman’s eyes are closed, looking beautifully disheveled.

”Was that okay?” Dean asks, breaking the peaceful silence that has settled over the room. He scrapes at the come on his skin, just to give himself something to do so he won’t have to look over at Roman’s face.

”It was different,” Roman says, tone even and cool, “not something I’ve ever thought about, but yeah, man, that was hot as hell.”

Dean does look over at Roman then, finally allowing himself to feel settled and sated at the look of complete honesty on Roman’s face. As confident as Roman can make him feel, Roman’s the only one he’s ever worried about impressing, or letting down, and knowing that Roman liked what they did makes him puff up with pride.

”Course it was,” Dean says, feeling bold and cocky and confident once more. “It’s you and me. We’re always fucking hot as hell.”

Roman chuckles, a soft, fond sound that means he’s simply humoring Dean because he loves him. “If you say so, man.”

”Damn fucking straight,” Dean says. “Now c’mon, I’m hungry. Make me food.”

Roman raises an eyebrow at him. “You go make me food, asshole. You woke me up.”

Dean snorts out a laugh. “Guess we’re starving.”

Roman grumbles and curses, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before he makes his way to the kitchen.

”Love you, too,” Dean says, a sharp bark of laughter spilling out at Roman’s _I hate you_ that comes floating down the hallway.

He loves Roman, loves everything about Roman, and he will until his dying day. Roman is it for him, and scary as it may be, Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
